Another Summer

by Sue Lilley

  His warm hand on her waist was disturbing. Afraid her breath might be horrible, she took a gulp from his can. Then she remembered the old clothes and the smudged remains of last night’s make-up. But it didn’t seem to be bothering him.

  “I know you’re a virgin but don’t worry about that. It’ll be fine.”

  She cringed, too mortified to ask him what he meant. She took a deep breath and managed to stop crying. She looked enough of a wreck without making it worse. He kissed her on the cheek but she was too embarrassed to even look at him.

  “Come on, I’ll treat you to breakfast.”

  She shuddered. “Can’t even think about food.”

  “Trust me, you’ll feel better. I stole it from the Drydens so it’s bound to be good.”

  She hadn’t noticed the droopy wicker hamper. He’d packed bacon rolls wrapped in foil, a flask of tea, a couple of ripe peaches. When they’d finished and she’d rallied a bit, he chucked a ball of foil back into the hamper.

  “I heard your grandmother’s going to the wedding? Thought you might want some company while she’s away?”

  Her stomach flipped. “Aren’t you going? I thought that was why you were here?”

  “Me? I don’t know any of them, apart from Steve. I had other reasons for wanting to get away from York. So, should I come over to yours on Saturday night?”

  “She’ll actually be leaving on Friday, taking the extra night so it won’t be such a rush for her.”

  “So, it’s a date then, yeah?”

  He didn’t seem to need a reply. He just kissed her cheek again, packed up the hamper and left her. By the end of the week she was sick with nerves. What if he didn’t show up? What if he did? He hadn’t even said which night he meant or what exactly he was expecting them to do.

  He surprised her on Friday afternoon. She looked up from making a sandwich, saw him watching her and almost cut off her finger.

  “You couldn’t make me one of those? It’s scorching outside. Let’s have them on the grass.”

  He sat cross legged, his jeans fraying over bare feet as they ate their picnic. He’d brought cider, so cold she could feel it bounce off the top of her head. She was nervous and knocked it back.

  “Nice garden,” he said. “But I wouldn’t fancy being stuck here for weeks. Bet you can’t wait to get home to Newcastle? What will you be doing after the summer?”

  “Everybody’s hassling me to make plans. It’s kind of assumed I’ll go into teaching like my gran and my dad. But I’m not that keen.”

  She didn’t want to remind him she hadn’t even done her A-levels yet.

  “It’s your life, you have to do what you want. I never knew my dad but I’m sure he wouldn’t want me down the pit like him, even if it was still up and running. In the meantime, I’m not rich boy Steve. I’ll be heading back to York to get a job before the next lot of students can start cherry-picking.”

  “But not yet?”

  She hadn’t meant to say it out loud. She was just starting to relax with him and he was the only person who’d been on her side over the teaching thing. And she’d never known anyone who looked like him. His T-shirt clung to his chest. She wished he’d take it off. She wanted to look at him properly. To touch him.

  “No, I won’t be going quite yet.”

  Like the other day, the cider had gone straight to her head. She put down the bottle and lay down in the grass, so cool against her hot skin. He lay down beside her and kissed her. She closed her eyes. Was it always so lovely when you kissed people?

  She felt his lips on her shoulder, pushing aside her red top. Then her bra strap was slipping down her arm and his mouth was on her breast, his tongue on her nipple which was somehow bare and waiting. She couldn’t speak as he took off her top and her bra, stopping her trying to cover herself by holding onto her hands.

  “Don’t you know how lovely you are?”

  His free hand traced across her breasts, teasing her nipples into aching peaks until her insides flipped over.

  “Feel what you’re doing to me.”

  She didn’t think she was doing anything but when he cupped her bottom and pulled her against him, she could feel the hardness in his jeans. She rubbed herself against him, making him moan in pleasure as his hand slid up her leg and inside her pants.

  His fingers probed, toying with the wetness she hadn’t known was there. She could hardly breathe as she felt herself gather around him. He pulled her denim shorts down, kissing his way down her belly. Kissing there. She jumped. Hadn’t known he would do that. Hadn’t expected the tremors, the heat.

  His clothes were off. How had he managed to do that? She couldn’t focus on anything but his fingers. On her fingers, now round him as he slid up and down in her hand, getting bigger and harder.

  “You’re okay?” he groaned. “You’re sorted, right?”

  He didn’t wait for a reply and she could only gasp as he clutched her knees and pushed himself into her. He was big. Scared she would tear, she tensed a bit, her fingers digging into his shoulders. But as he moved, slowly at first, she opened herself, raised her knees to take him in, wrapped her legs around him and found herself matching his rhythm until a hot wave started to build.

  She lifted her hips, opened her legs to take more of him but just as she started to sense a peak, he grunted and collapsed on top of her, panting for breath.

  “Baby, wow! That was something else.”

  “It was?” She hadn’t meant it to sound like a question.

  “Your first time. Don’t worry. You’ll get better.”

  She wondered what she hadn’t done, why she felt so flat and disappointed. She got up onto her knees and reached for her clothes but he was quicker, tossing them aside.

  “No, you don’t. I like looking at you.” He pushed himself up onto his hands, taking a drink from the bottle as his eyes scanned over her naked body. “You are fucking gorgeous, do you know that?”

  Feeling wet and uncomfortable, she tried to stop thinking about covering herself up and took her first real chance to look at him. She was fascinated by the way he was all soft now, flopping onto his thigh. It had been so big, so hard only a minute ago. Without thinking, she ran a finger over him. He quickened at once. Kissed her.

  “You want to go again? Give me a minute.”

  The sun was relentless as they faced each other, still on their knees in the grass. She watched him rolling her nipples until they were swollen and aching for his mouth. She saw his fingers slide inside her, round and round, his thumb doing something magic until at last she fell back, gasping at the wave.

  “I didn’t know,” she whispered.

  She felt buoyant, subtly altered, as if every atom had been scrambled then re-assembled. She wanted to thank him. But he was already inside her riding his own wave.

  “I’m glad it was you,” she said later. “My first time, I mean.”

  “Me too.”

  They did it again, during the night in the big old bed, their clothes tossed carelessly onto the floor. As she drifted into the glow of sleep, she wondered if this was how it felt to fall in love with someone. If it were possible for the loving to keep on getting better every time. She didn’t realise it was already over.

  ***

  Joe had hidden his rucksack on the porch and by eight o’clock on the morning of Malcolm Dryden’s wedding, he’d already made his escape. He’d had more than enough of feeling like the poor relation and as he threw his stuff onto the cross country train he felt nothing but smug about getting one over on Steve.

  Maybe he could’ve been more up-front with Evie but he just wasn’t into major goodbyes. The girl was hot, but Jesus! She’d been so into him he was seriously spooked. He was nineteen and he wasn’t going down that route anytime soon, however much he’d fancied her.

  Anyway, York wasn’t that far from Newcastle. Once the waters had cooled, he might look her up. She’d be a good bet for the odd weekend when there was nothing else happening. Meanwhile, putting a fe
w hundred miles between them seemed a better bet right now.

  By the time he lugged his rucksack off the train at tea time, he was starving and looking forward to a bit of his mother’s pampering. He was too broke for more than a snack and if he went back to the empty flat, there’d be nothing in the fridge. He hoped his mother wouldn’t have her usual house full.

  She was always extra thrilled to have him home, being the youngest and the only boy. He hadn’t seen his four sisters since Easter but he really couldn’t be bothered to compete with too many squabbling grandchildren.

  He wouldn’t mind seeing Heather, though. They were the closest in age and she had plans to be an accountant. There was money in that. And prestige. He liked bragging a bit about her.

  But when he let himself into the pebble-dashed house, there was nobody home. No cooking smells either which was seriously odd for a Saturday tea-time. So much for being pampered.

  He rang Heather at her flat.

  “Joe! Where the hell have you been? Nobody knew how to get in touch with you.”

  “I was in Cornwall, at Steve’s. Why, what’s happened?”

  “Just get over here. Get a taxi. I’ll pay.”

  There’d be no more pampering. Irene Marsh had died from a heart attack a few days ago, sudden and instantaneous in the middle of the night. None of them had even suspected she’d been ill.

  The next couple of weeks were a blur. The nightmare of the funeral, the first one Joe had ever been to and he was expected to man-up and behave like the head of the family. He kept knocking back beers and chasers, anything to numb the terrifying feeling of having nobody in his corner.

  The sisters had to sift through thirty odd years of family trivia, dismantling the family home so the keys could go back to the council. Joe hovered on the sidelines feeling as abandoned as a small boy. He kept on drinking.

  “Feels weird being orphans at our age,” Heather said a couple of weeks later. They were in the pub down the street from her flat.

  “Yeah. I’m nineteen but I feel like nine.”

  “I wonder if it’s because we’re the youngest and the others have all got their families. I couldn’t wait to leave home but I always knew she’d be there if I needed her for anything. Who’s going to do Christmas? They’ll all fight over it. It’ll be grim.”

  “We could go away?” Joe suggested. “Somewhere hot?”

  “Come into money, have you? Or even a proper job for the new semester?”

  He looked miserably into his beer. “Just the usual, why?”

  “You want to start thinking about your CV. Bar work won’t cut it on the experience front when there’s all that competition.”

  He’d lied about the usual bar job. Not much chance of going back to Glenda’s if he wanted to keep all his teeth. He’d sort something else, when he felt up to it. In the meantime, Steve would be an understanding landlord about overdue rent, even if he was a prick.

  “So, who are you bringing to my party?” Heather asked.

  “What? You’re not still having it?”

  “Why not? We could all do with cheering up. Mum liked a knees-up as much as anyone. She wouldn’t want me to miss out on my twenty-first on her account. Why don’t you invite Steve?”

  “Steve? Why?”

  “Because I fancy him, that’s why. He’s only a year or so younger than me and he did put himself out to come to Mum’s funeral.”

  Joe had forgotten Steve was one of those rich bastards who’d had a gap year before uni. But he didn’t like the idea of his mate knobbing his favourite sister. It could all be awkward enough.

  But back at the flat, nothing was said about the summer and they settled into their usual lads’ routine. Evie wasn’t mentioned, not even as a summer shag and if Joe felt any sort of pang about her, he put it down to boredom. He decided he better get himself out there before he lost his touch.

  He met Kat at Heather’s party. Katriona, as exotic as her name. Tall, sleek and thirtyish with the longest black hair he’d ever seen. Her dress was a floaty ethnic affair, just the right side of transparent. No underwear. Joe couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  She noticed. Danced in front of him, arms above her head. When she sat on his lap, he was already straining against his jeans. She dragged on a joint someone was passing around. Blew the smoke across his mouth, her tongue trailing after it.

  “Do you pose?”

  He couldn’t find his voice.

  “For life drawing. Many students do it for extra cash.” Her voice was husky, a trace of an accent.

  “You’re an artist?”

  “I also teach. A good model is like gold dust. I think you could have it.”

  She ran the back of her hand over his stomach and down across his erection. He was almost panting at the thought of what she could teach him.

  “Should I persuade you?”

  She placed his hand on her breast, making him play with her nipple. She moved it down her leg then up, using his fingers to touch herself, there in full view of the dancers. Nobody seemed to notice or care.

  She stood up and pulled him into the bedroom where she fucked him until he could barely move. He learned that when Kat wanted something, there was no way to refuse.

  She wanted him to pose, so he did. It seemed an easy way to make a few quid, even if it was weird taking your clothes off in front of a bunch of strangers. But he soon realised that the students saw his naked body as a structure, no more than light and shade and a series of lines. He watched Kat flitting amongst them, nodding approval, suggesting this or that. They hung on her every word. He knew exactly how they felt.

  She liked him to stay naked after the students had gone. Liked sex in the art room, the danger of it. He was always ready. She was a drug more addictive than the potent weed they smoked back at her place. She took over his head. His life. Her odd bohemian friends became his friends. When she suggested he move in, he thought why not? She paid for stuff and didn’t nag him about getting a job.

  He joined a couple of her classes and found he wasn’t half bad. He was more interested in shagging her than putting in the work but it didn’t seem to matter. He was having the time of his life. Who wouldn’t love his life? It was one long party. The future was for old people. It could take care of itself.

  Chapter 11

  What was it with women and bathrooms? Lisa had been in there ages, leaving Joe with way too much time to think. He loitered by the window, peering out at the miserable night. How could there be so much rain? Was it ever going to stop hurling itself down the glass? Would he ever get to Cornwall? Would he get through the next few hours without giving in to temptation?

  The prospect of bed was lurking in the room, like a test he had to pass. He was having major doubts. Maybe he should get back on the road and take his chances in the storm? It wouldn’t be so difficult now he’d had a rest and a shower. If all the other drivers had stopped for the night, the motorway would be empty and he could make a run for it. Yeah and probably kill himself in the process.

  Lisa finally came out draped in a white towel. Christ! She wasn’t going to make it easy for him, was she? Couldn’t she have put something on? He fiddled a bit with the curtains, aware he was adjusting them so the tabs at the top were all equally spaced along the rail. He was definitely losing the plot. And she still wasn’t dressed.

  “Are there any tea bags left?” she asked. “I could murder some chocolate and a cuppa.”

  He wondered where she was putting it all. She’d already demolished a carvery meal which had been edible at best. And a bowl of lukewarm crumble and custard. But he jumped at the chance of a breather. He grabbed his wallet.

  “I’ll go and see if the shop’s still open.”

  “Really? A flake would be fab if you’re sure you don’t mind going out again in that?”

  He was drenched before he’d taken a couple of steps. The sides of the walkway were open, the plastic roof no match for the driving rain. But it was a relief to be out of that
room. The room with the big bed in the middle of it.

  The shop was empty but for the student on the till plugged into an iPod, his head nodding along to some trance-like beat. Joe wandered round as if he was in a giant supermarket, eventually making a considered choice between two gift boxes of miniature spirits and exactly which flake bar to buy from the five on the shelf.

  As he put them down at the till to pay, his elbow knocked over the promotional display. The deal of the day was a box of pencils and a sketch pad, maybe aimed at bored kids who’d sooner be watching a violent DVD. He retrieved the one from the floor, saw the wrapping had spilt so paid for it without much further thought. Then he headed reluctantly back to Lisa.

  She was in bed now. Nothing on by the looks of it but at least she’d pulled the covers up to her armpits. He switched on the kettle, counting to ten as he stripped off his own wet shirt and kicked his soggy trainers under the little table. It was stifling in the room. Couldn’t even open a window.

  “I’m glad we’re nice and safe in here. I was starting to get a bit scared we were going to break down in all that water.”

  Safe wasn’t a word he’d have chosen. He laced his tea with whisky, hoping it would help him sleep. But he couldn’t take his eyes off Lisa as she sucked and nibbled on the flake. She couldn’t be that innocent surely? She must know how painfully erotic that was? What was the matter with the girl? Was she asking for trouble? Why couldn’t she just go to sleep and stop tormenting him?

  He stalked around the room, praying that if he ignored his erection, it would fizzle conveniently away.

  “What’s wrong? Aren’t you tired?”

  “No, I’m not bloody tired.”

  “You’re cross. Is it because we’re stuck here?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Are you cross with me?”

  Exasperated by the crack in her voice, he thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His button popped and the zip slid down like another conspiracy. He yanked it back up.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “The rain’s getting on my nerves. Just go to sleep, yeah?”